


Body Language

by SublimeDiscordance



Series: Four Hearts Are Better Than One [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration, M/M, Multi, Okay maybe a little plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, this is filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father's Day is the worst for the Beckets. Herc tries his best to make up for it. Chuck helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suyari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/gifts).



> Literally written in like. Two hours. For Suyari. Because she is evil evil evil and gives me these ideas. So...
> 
> Happy Father's Day, everyone!
> 
>  ~~Please note that this is _not_ a direct sequel to Pave The Way. This is actually part 3 of the series, but I haven't actually finished part 2 yet.~~ Haha just kidding part 2 is up now. So, as is proper, this is part 3. 
> 
> Title inspired by the Adam Lambert song "Broken English"
> 
> Unbeta'd, so please excuse any weirdness.

Raleigh's whining has increased in volume, the needy little thing that he is.

It's with a herculean effort--and, _god_ , he did _not_ just think that--that Herc forces himself to stop and slip from the confines of Yancy's ass and, ignoring the complaints from his eldest son, sheathe himself in Raleigh's tight warmth. The kid's whines increase in pitch for a moment before dropping into a throaty moan, hands pulling his own asscheeks apart so that Herc can watch the gaping ring of muscle clench and spasm around his own cock. The sound that escapes his throat is nearly animalistic, and he leans forward to sink his teeth into the flesh of Raleigh's shoulder. 

"Oh, _fuck_ yeah, fuck me, daddy," comes the deep response to the unspoken claim, the silent  _'mine_ ' inherent in every wet sound of flesh meeting flesh. Herc doesn't answer, simply increases the force of his thrusts, wrapping an arm around Raleigh's midsection so that he can maneuver the kid’s body and drive right into his prostate relentlessly. 

Yancy's whining is increasing in volume, now, too.

"Chuck, keep your brother wet for me," the command is out of his mouth before Herc can even think about it, and he hears the whines transform into something needier, something closer to  _begging_ , and a quick glance over tells him that his youngest has latched his mouth onto Yancy's loosened hole. A smirk works its way onto his face; Herc knows what his son can do with that tongue of his when it's not spilling vitriol over everything and everyone around him, and so does Yancy. Appropriate, considering that Yancy taught Chuck everything he knows--at least, about that particular activity. 

His attention is pulled back to Raleigh beneath him, moans giving way to quick, panting vocalizations that Herc knows mean he's getting close. He slows his pace until he's barely moving, relishing in the feeling of Raleigh quivering around him, entire body shaking in need. 

"Please daddy," kid's not even bothering to not beg at this point, voice breathless and _wrecked_ , "please let me come.  _Please_."

Herc makes a considering sound deep in his throat, not changing his speed but instead rotating his hips slowly; knows that Raleigh gets off on—

“Oh _fuck_ , yeah, fuckin’ rearrange me, daddy, _fuck_.”

—that. He smirks into the bruise forming beneath his ministrations, tongue laving a wet trail up the side of Raleigh’s neck. There’s a movement out of the corner of his eye, and he sees a hand drifting down, trying to go unnoticed. He grabs it, slipping his fingers between trembling digits as he holds the limb down.

“Not yet, baby,” he pitches his voice low, rumbling deep in his chest; feels his cock twitch deep in Raleigh’s guts at the way the kid shivers, “gotta be good for me, first. Can you do that? Be good for your daddy?”

Maybe Herc shouldn’t derive so much pleasure from the way Raleigh’s entire body jerks as he puts emphasis on the last word, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to care. This is what the Beckets need today, of all days. They need him to show them how much he loves them, need to show him how much they love him in return.

Every father’s day is like this. Has been for the past three years. He and Chuck had their issues, sure, but miraculously surviving a nuclear explosion had done a lot to force them into actually talking to one another. The fact that they’d been given a second chance is one of the few things that ended up _right_ from the war. Herc still calls Stacker every few months to check in on his friend, see if the miracles of science he can subject himself to now that there are no Kaiju to fight are still working to keep him alive. Mostly, though, the calls are Herc thanking his friend for saving his son; Stacker always laughs and reminds Herc that Chuck knows most of what he does from drifting with his father, so, really, he’d had help.

Regardless, at the very least he and Chuck can _talk_ about their issues, can actually _work_ on them.

The Beckets— _his boys_ , in heart if not in blood—have no one. No one except him and Chuck and each other. And, really, he and his boy have never been the best with words. Thankfully, neither have either of the Beckets. They talk, yes, but this—the push and pull, give and take of their bodies writhing together, against, one another, the four of them hurtling together towards that mindless abandon—has always been the setting for their true conversations, the way they say the things to one another that actually matter.

Yancy’s cries pitch upward, his voice cracking—his tell—and Herc leans back from sucking another mark into Raleigh’s neck to tell his youngest, “Oi, don’t you _dare_ make him come yet.”

Chuck pulls back so fast that Herc’s pretty sure the kid’s got whiplash. Both he and Yancy make unhappy sounds, a line of spit hanging between them, stuck to the corner of Chuck’s lips.

The idea strikes him so suddenly, so forcefully, that Herc has to reach down and grip the base of his own cock to keep from spilling himself right then and there.

“You,” he says, gesturing to Chuck, “On your back.” As he’s moving to comply, a finger is pointed at Yancy.

“You, ride him. Do not come unless I say so, either of you. Am I understood?”

When he gets two assenting nods and noises that could probably be best construed as _hungry_ , Herc shifts his attention back to where Raleigh is rutting back against him, clearly trying desperately to get friction against his neglected cock and prostate. He responds by flexing his abdominal muscles, making his cock twitch and pulse within the kid’s ass, knows he’s got his positioning just right when he gets a sob of relief in response. He allows himself to move ever so slightly, tapping against the spot he knows drives the kid _wild_ , and can’t help the smirk that tries to take over his face when he pulls out torturously slow, keening noises mixed with begging filling the air. When Raleigh turns to look at him—“No, daddy, _please_ , I’ll be good, I promise, _please_ ”—he’s fairly sure there are tears gathering in the corners of his boy's eyes. Like any good father, he leans forward and kisses them away, hands coming up to frame Raleigh’s face, crystal blue eyes tracking his movements, before he leans forward to whisper, “help me fuck your brother, eh?” in one ear.

He hears a gasp, and he has to tighten his grip slightly and grit out, “ _Did I say you could come yet?_ ” to force the kid to get his body under control. It doesn’t help that, at that exact moment, Herc hears both Chuck and Yancy make absolutely delicious sounds in tandem, Yancy’s drawn out and transforming into a string of curses.

“Gag your brother for me,” he adds, “and don’t come unless I tell you to. Am I clear?”

He almost misses the “Yes, daddy,” breathed against his cheek, the words so breathy and low that, if he didn’t know his son so well, he would’ve thought it’d been his imagination. Instead, he pulls back, moves his hands to Raleigh’s shoulders, and nods.

“That’s my good boy.”

Raleigh stiffens and grips the base of his cock—harshly, if the way his circuitry-scarred arm muscles are bulging is any indication—as his abdominal muscles tense all at once. Herc has to restrain himself from doing the same at the sight, only managing to keep himself from coming by sheer force of will.

But then Raleigh has to go and move over towards where his brother is currently engaging in a desperate battle of tongues with Chuck and pull Yancy’s head up by his hair—the two of them seem to have a thing for hair-pulling—before shoving his cock down Yancy’s throat. Of course Yancy gags—eight inches of one’s younger brother tends to do that—but Herc can see the way he shudders in delight, knows that the action is only in part due to the way he can see Chuck’s cock slipping in and out of the well-fucked hole.

Speaking of.

Herc places a hand on Yancy’s back, forcing him further forward and further down onto Raleigh’s dick, before he lines himself up against his youngest’s frantically pistoning length and pushes in.

Yancy maybe makes a noise in shock—or, rather, tries to when his younger brother pulls himself from between his lips, but Raleigh’s moving back in just as quickly, balls slapping against Yancy’s chin, trapping whatever sound is currently vibrating in Yancy’s chest. Whatever it might be, it soon devolves into all-out moaning, Chuck and Herc both cursing in tandem when hips slap themselves back against their trusts that have synced up.

Herc allows himself to get lost for a little while. To just _feel_ the way Yancy’s body is writhing underneath him, seemingly unsure whether it should try to push him out or pull him deeper, trapped between three cocks that invade deeper and deeper the more he moves. To feel his son’s cock rutting against his own, fucking into Yancy with him. To hear Raleigh’s desperate whimpers and moans and “fuck, yeah, bro, fuckin’ gag on it”s. He leans back, watching the way his cock disappears into Yancy alongside Chuck’s, Yancy’s ass stretched beyond its limits the way Herc knows he loves so much.

It’s only when Chuck starts whimpering, too, letting out a soft, “Please, Dad,” that Herc reaches forward and grabs a fistful of blond locks, tugging Yancy’s body upright and flush with his own. He nips at shell of one ear before he whispers the one word he knows his son has been waiting for.

“Come.”

Yancy does. Instantly. With an inhuman sound and a tightening of his ass around the two dicks within him, he spills himself over Chuck’s front, the first and second shots actually landing on Chuck’s face—one on his left cheek, the other stretching over his lips—before the rest make a fantastic mess of Chuck’s chest. Chuck, however, doesn’t seem to mind, if the way he arches off the bed and shouts, arms wrapping around Yancy’s midsection, is any indication. Herc can feel his son spilling within Yancy, coating both their cocks with it, and the feeling of it is so intense, so indescribably _right_ , that he almost comes.

Almost.

The one thing that allows him to hold back is the sight of Raleigh, watching the three of them, practically _vibrating_ with need, cock an angry, deep shade of red and dripping with both his older brother’s saliva and weeping strings of pre-come.

Herc would never leave his boy in such a state. _Could_ never.

He maneuvers himself out of Yancy’s over-stuffed hole, the gasping and full-body shudder the action elicits not going unnoticed, as he moves on his knees to where Raleigh is, the kid holding himself as still as he can. His eyes seek out Herc’s, imploring, and Herc can’t say no to that. He smiles, leaning in to cup Raleigh’s jaw and place a soft kiss against lips chapped from so much panting. There’s a whine coming from within his boy, high and pained.

“Here, I’ve got you,” he says, words barely audible as he slowly lowers Raleigh onto his back, brushes of calloused fingertips against tanned thighs encouraging legs to part. “Daddy’s got you.”

The slide into his boy’s body feels like coming home, and Herc is mesmerized by the way Raleigh’s face is so expressive, so _open_ when he’s taken like this, begging his daddy to use him, to love him, to make him feel like the center of the universe.

Because, really, his boys, all three of them, _are_ his universe. And he makes sure Raleigh knows that. What he does could easily be called lovemaking, but Herc thinks that the word is inadequate to the task. He doesn’t make love to Raleigh, he makes Raleigh _love_ , makes his boy know what the word means, shatters his horizon with each slow, deliberate thrust and scrape of teeth, makes him feel like nothing else exists—nothing else _matters_ —except him and the gentle glide of their bodies. Makes that spark that travels between the four of them roar to life, igniting them and cradling them in heat as Herc whispers, “come for daddy,” into his boy’s kiss-bitten lips.

When he finally comes down from his release, slipping from within Raleigh’s abused grasp with a soft gasp of overstimulation from both of them, it’s to find that Yancy is already huddled into his side. Raleigh, for his part, finally lets the tears Herc has seen trying to sneak their way out fall and wraps his arms around him. He kisses the tops of their heads as they both shudder into his side, glaring at Chuck when his youngest tries to sneak away, never one for these kind of moments unless he’s the center. However, Herc doesn’t miss the way he gently strokes at both Beckets’ arms where their hands are clasped together desperately on Herc’s chest, snuggling into Yancy’s side.

And maybe this isn’t enough. Maybe it will never be enough; not on days like today. But Herc will do it anyway, will do whatever he can for his boys. Because, though both of them might get off on calling him daddy during sex—lovemaking, fucking, _whatever_ anyone might want to call it—he knows that, to them, it’s more than that, more than something as simple as a kink, more even than memories of clinging to one another desperately as the last stable, secure point in their lives walked out on them. And, while he can never be the father the Beckets needed, he can be what they need now.

So Herc holds his boys. Holds them as they cry. Holds them as sobs wrack their bodies. Holds them as Chuck finally gets with the fucking program and places chaste kisses into Yancy’s shoulder, not saying anything.

Because these are _his_ boys. And, to him, that means something. And he’s going to make sure they know it.


End file.
